Never... Ever... fly through Luton Airport
Such a scathing title usually preludes a inflammatory critique and this post is no exception. Still, my ire was piqued on this occassion and writing about it may prevent someone else from having to endure a similar debacle, as herding cats seems like an appropriate metaphor.
First, a word on the name. London-Luton airport is a tad misleading because while (I believe) this airport is in England and not India, attaching London to the beginning is a cruel exercise in deception, but not one without it's well concieved intentions. The truth is that this airport is located somewhere in the English countryside (the Lakes district perhaps) and seems like it is closer to Birmingham than London. In any case it's a good hour and a half or more by train into London proper.
Maybe the journey was less stressful on the way out of the airport than it was back in because the outward bound leg is colored by anticipation of an adventure while the return is marred by the realization that one is resuming "life as usual." The truth is that traveling on Friday afternoon is much different than traveling on Sunday afternoon. I will conceed that WHEN you travel, is perhaps more important than WHERE you travel.
To recount, return trip from East Medon to Luton was, as near as I can recall, as follows:
Wake up on hard ground inside tipi after long night of binge drinking and intermittant sleep at approximately 7:30 am. Contemplate civalrous and selfless offer to let my girlfriend use my down sleeping bag. Sidestep regret, bite tongue, and feel good that my darling was comfortable. Morning toilet and breakfast without incident. Good-byes followed by 9:30 departure by car for Petersfield station (15 minutes) with kind soul by the name of Darren. Train delayed for 45 minutes due to "animals on the track." Switch trains in Woking, (meagre) standing room only Next to annoying Dutch couple talking ceaselessly in alternating Dutch and English (convinced they are showing off). London underground: misplaced ticket + only 80p in Sterling left = 20 minutes of lost travel time + mounting frustration. London Bridge tube station experiencing "significant delays" due to God knows what. Reroute to Blackfriars. Board train to Luton, train nearly empty. Next stop, train as full as market day in Calcutta. I sit across from a lady holding a two year old who keeps kicking me and behind a middle aged chav whose gravelly voice and persistent hacking of mucus lead me to believe she will loose a lung before the trip is finished. Arrive at Luton Airport Parkway. Indifferent chav sporting sweat pants, tank top, sunglasses, baseball cap, and requisite cigarette unemotionally crams dazed travelers onto shuttle bus. I spend the 15 minute journey forced to stand with yet another chav's armpit in my grill and his arse uncomfortably close to my crotch all so his girlfriend(?) can stand with a at least a good 12 inches of space around her entire person. Finish off waiting for two hours in an arport that seems nearly devoid of seating, chav central. Board plane with at least 10 screaming, sugar-hopped children and an odd number of crying babies. In a stroke of luck manage to obtain seat near emergency exit with ample leg room only to have a guy sit behind me who smells so bad that I nearly lost my lunch. Seriously, I puked a little in my mouth. Think about sign in airplane toilet, "consider using your paper towel to wipe off the sink for the next person" and contemplate proposing a sign which reads, "for the comfort of your fellow passengers, consider...BATHING." Never so happy to reach Schipol ever before in my life. Quiet, nearly empty train ride back to Den Haag.
I know. Perhaps I have an anger management problem. It is after all, no-frills flying, and they mean it. All the same I believe I'll think twice about flying through Luton again.
First, a word on the name. London-Luton airport is a tad misleading because while (I believe) this airport is in England and not India, attaching London to the beginning is a cruel exercise in deception, but not one without it's well concieved intentions. The truth is that this airport is located somewhere in the English countryside (the Lakes district perhaps) and seems like it is closer to Birmingham than London. In any case it's a good hour and a half or more by train into London proper.
Maybe the journey was less stressful on the way out of the airport than it was back in because the outward bound leg is colored by anticipation of an adventure while the return is marred by the realization that one is resuming "life as usual." The truth is that traveling on Friday afternoon is much different than traveling on Sunday afternoon. I will conceed that WHEN you travel, is perhaps more important than WHERE you travel.
To recount, return trip from East Medon to Luton was, as near as I can recall, as follows:
Wake up on hard ground inside tipi after long night of binge drinking and intermittant sleep at approximately 7:30 am. Contemplate civalrous and selfless offer to let my girlfriend use my down sleeping bag. Sidestep regret, bite tongue, and feel good that my darling was comfortable. Morning toilet and breakfast without incident. Good-byes followed by 9:30 departure by car for Petersfield station (15 minutes) with kind soul by the name of Darren. Train delayed for 45 minutes due to "animals on the track." Switch trains in Woking, (meagre) standing room only Next to annoying Dutch couple talking ceaselessly in alternating Dutch and English (convinced they are showing off). London underground: misplaced ticket + only 80p in Sterling left = 20 minutes of lost travel time + mounting frustration. London Bridge tube station experiencing "significant delays" due to God knows what. Reroute to Blackfriars. Board train to Luton, train nearly empty. Next stop, train as full as market day in Calcutta. I sit across from a lady holding a two year old who keeps kicking me and behind a middle aged chav whose gravelly voice and persistent hacking of mucus lead me to believe she will loose a lung before the trip is finished. Arrive at Luton Airport Parkway. Indifferent chav sporting sweat pants, tank top, sunglasses, baseball cap, and requisite cigarette unemotionally crams dazed travelers onto shuttle bus. I spend the 15 minute journey forced to stand with yet another chav's armpit in my grill and his arse uncomfortably close to my crotch all so his girlfriend(?) can stand with a at least a good 12 inches of space around her entire person. Finish off waiting for two hours in an arport that seems nearly devoid of seating, chav central. Board plane with at least 10 screaming, sugar-hopped children and an odd number of crying babies. In a stroke of luck manage to obtain seat near emergency exit with ample leg room only to have a guy sit behind me who smells so bad that I nearly lost my lunch. Seriously, I puked a little in my mouth. Think about sign in airplane toilet, "consider using your paper towel to wipe off the sink for the next person" and contemplate proposing a sign which reads, "for the comfort of your fellow passengers, consider...BATHING." Never so happy to reach Schipol ever before in my life. Quiet, nearly empty train ride back to Den Haag.
I know. Perhaps I have an anger management problem. It is after all, no-frills flying, and they mean it. All the same I believe I'll think twice about flying through Luton again.
posted by JC at 4:11 PM
4 Comments:
i believe i have flown through luton before and was surprised to find out how far from london i was though i don't remember having any bad experiences. had to look up the term chav in order to fully understand the rant. hope i'm not a chav.
Nice use of the word Chav there mate. A week ago I don't think you knew what it really ment - although I'm sure you could have provided a host of synonyms.
Now you are using it like it's going out of fashion ( ironic prehaps? ).
No gold teeth, you're a straight up pimpin' gangsta. However there are some similarities. Like your two fists full of rings, Dolce and Gabanna bling necklace, and the DIY knuckle tats. I think chavs stick to Burbury.
And anon... you're quite right about my recent aquisition of the word "chav," I hope I didn't overdue it. I felt a bit like a kid with a shiny new toy, have to show it off. If it's going out of fashion, more's the pity for such a colorful and (obviously) useful word.
Wow, I'm impressed, two comments on the same post! Must be from the British slang usage. I'm getting as much milage as I can from this word since it may be going out of style. "Damn, can't swing a dead barman in this place without hitting some chav in a Burbury jacket." I love it!
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